Wretched Little Things
by DovakhiinDreaming
Summary: Born from darkness, Lotux intends to wrap the world in her clutches and shroud the world in eternal night. Cast away from Lord Harkon's court due to her refusal to play by the rules and without a friend in the world, she begins a daunting task: to sate the world's thirst for blood by drowning them in it. (CoTN reboot)


Lotux draws her hood over her head to protect herself from the sun's harsh rays, hating the way it made her blood boil. One day, she'd kill the blasted thing, tear it from the sky with her bear hands- making place for the moon, and herself.

Gods, she hated the day. And this forsaken realm, filled with mortals. Annoying, pitiful, and good for nothing but a quick meal at most. It was high time, she decided, to bend the world to her will and make it her own.

Of course, she couldn't do it alone. Well, actually, she could; however, it would be much more enjoyable with an entire legion of followers, wrecking havoc in her name.

Yes, she could see it now. Cities would crumble. Families would burn.

And that was when, amidst her terrible imaginings, Lotux smelled blood.

Not any typical, grade-A liquid that smelled like cattle. No, something delectable, with a fruity fragrance, like the finest of wine. Just the thought made her throat clench with undeniable thirst as she eagerly scanned the horizon.

Whiterun sat in the distance, and even further still, High Hrothgar. There was the scent of honey on the wind, and a stream bubbled down to her left. To her right, however, the smell of blood strengthened, leading to a crumbled tower.

Lotux runs her tongue over her soft lips and sharpened teeth. Today, she would feed.

Casting off her robes, she catches her reflection in a nearby puddle. Pale skin, softer than moonlight, unmarred by time. Slanted, wide eyes, flickering and cackling like an open flame, framed by thick blonde lashes. Her hair falls delicately around her shoulders in a thick, blonde mane, twisting into corkscrew curls. Her lips curl into a smile, exposing fangs in a vain smile.

Her armor is unlike anything this world has ever seen. It is built with the likeness of the Skaal and their Stahlrim outfits- only instead, as opposed to an ice blue, is a blood red, deeper than any ruby.

Driven by the instinctual need to feast, Lotux crosses the desecrated stairs with quick leaps and bounds, landing softly on her feet at the doorway. Inside, a cough is heard.

And by the blood of her ancestors, did it smell heavenly.

"Have you come to take me to my gods?" A male asks, causing Lotux to sharply turn her head. She takes in the situation quickly, mind jumping to conclusions and decisions in seconds.

The male is wounded, damaged. She can see his life force seeping out of him, soaking the floor. His imperial armor is sliced open across his chest in a deep cut- enough to be _barely _fatal, but barely alive, also. If animals didn't kill him within the next week, time would.

Still, he is impressive. Cracking a smile, facing death unflinchingly. And he isn't exactly unattractive, Lotux decides. Not on par to her greatness, but not terrible to look at.

A high, sloping forehead, skin kissed by the sun. His black hair is an odd contrast to his tan skin, but not uncomely. She can see his ripped arms, the veins in his neck. But still, he had the likeness of a child. His blue eyes shone like the ocean.

Such a shame. Lotux had a _thing_ for blue eyes, and if she were to go through with her plan, he'd lose them forever.

"Would you like a second chance?" She asks, in her bell-like chime of a voice. She doesn't really care about his answer- what Lotux wants, by the gods, Lotux would get.

"At what? Life?" The male asks, letting out a sharp life. "It's too late for me."

Lotux's crimson eyes train on his blue ones. "Not at life... But at undeath."

There is a tense silence. Somewhere, a wolf howls.

"You are indeed an angel of the night, then. Lovely and timeless. And I can see that you're more hungry than the void. Very well. Feed."

As if to reinforce his statement, the male turns his head to the side, exposing the soft flesh of his neck.

And so Lotux make him her own.

* * *

Marcius, the male remembers. His name is Marcius.

And she- she is his savior. His mistress. His life. Forever, he'd protect her from harm. He'd slice down any foe that opposed her, destroy anyone who dare mar her delicate skin. And if anyone, _anyone _draw those scarlet tears from her eyes... He'd make them pay.

Lotux. Mother. Mistress. Savior. Lotux. Lotux. Lotux.

Oh, how he loved her.

She had this habit of breaking necks with her hands in combat. Only rarely, and in tight situations, did she draw her sword. That sword that radiated animosity and ancient hunger. That sword that once matched his eyes.

His eyes match hers now, and he regrets nothing.

Granted, he misses the sun. And watching the pups play in Markarth. But he is above that now. Lotux refuses to enter city gates unless it's to feed, and even then the trip is short.

He has never seen someone like her with a battle style such as this. Fighting in a whirlwind of teeth, nails, and blades, leaving no room for retreat.

And he has never seen her blood. Not once, in their eight months together, had it been drawn.

"Marcius, what have you learned from me thus so far?" Lotux asks, drawing him from his thoughts. He looks up from his spellbook, yet is unable to meet her eyes.

"Many things, mistress," Marcius begins, albeit a little nervously. Her gaze, unflinching and often cold, settles on him. "How to drain blood from the body. How to raise the dead-"

Lotux interrupts him with a voice shaking with anger. "What is the quickest way to immobilize an army?"

Marcius raises his eyes to meet hers, the air cackling with electricity. "From within the troops. Cause them to turn on each other, while we watch the chaos unfurl."

She must be pleased with his answer, because she turns from him, gazes off into the sunset from the mouth of their cave. Soon, the moon will rise, and Lotux will be in a better mood.

The thought soothes him.

"It is time, Marcius. For us to make ourselves known in the world. To make it our own," Lotux murmurs. Quiet though it is, her voice hums with power.

Marcius's heart jumps in his chest. "And how do we do that, Mistress?" he asks, using his pet name for her. She taught him this, these names of affections. Mistress, Goddess, My love, My night.

Lotux's voice radiates the coldness of the grave.

"We do this by paying my spoiled father, Harkon, a visit."

* * *

Harkon begins his day by checking off a list in his head. It is odd, the OCD in his mind. It leaves no room for mistakes. He tends to fixate on the smallest things, which was the main reason his marriage crumbled.

What is left on his list? Ah, yes. Find Serana, use her blood. Or, Valercia. He must complete the tyranny of the sun, stain the sky red with it's blood. Only then, could he move on.

Because damn, if this wasn't frustrating.

Harkon slides out of his coffin, brushes past his adoring little followers. He makes his way up the stairs, radiating power.

Lotux is the farthest thing from his mind.

It is not uncommon for the brain to delete or block unfavoring and often traumatizing memories from the head. It is not foolish, or weak, merely a means of survival. And Lotux, the mere mention of her name, made his blood boil. So much, to the point of his magicka nearly bringing the ancient castle down to the sea once more, like that college in the north.

And so he blocked her from his mind. She was probably dead, anyways, for good this time. She was always so impulsive, so angry. He remembered that one time when she had a knife to Serana's throat all because she-

No. Stop. Delete.

The memory gone, Harkon can breathe again. He sits down in his throne, closes his eyes. Tries to remember anything that would lead to the location of Valercia.

"It's been _such _a long time, Father. We really should visit more," A terribly familiar voice whispers in his ear.

A collision explodes in Harkon's brain, causing him to grit his teeth. Dammit, he remembered everything he hated.

He hops from his chair, spins to the side. There is nothing there.

His subjects are beginning to look at him odd.

"No need to startle. It's just me, your darling daughter and possibly your worst mistake. You can't sleep at day, can you? Knowing that both your children, and your wife, still walk this infernal plain."

A sharp laugh, like breaking glass. God, she sounds like her mother when she laughs. He hates it.

"Cease these games, Lotux. Why are you here?" He asks, which earns a soft sigh from the woman. Suddenly, a woman materializes before him, and he blinks.

Not this. This can't be her. This blazing woman with the likeness of a hurricane, eyes glinting with distaste and rage, back straight and head high. Last time he saw her, she'd run off with her tail between her legs, shame radiating from her slight frame.

He must've flinched, because Lotux looks pleased. She even tosses her hair over her shoulder, smiles a dimpled smile.

Oh, how he hates her. Suddenly infused with a rage, he raises his fist lightning fast and makes for her face, form a blur.

But something blocks his path, and his hand meets an unbending wall.

Another form erupts, a tall male wielding a greatsword crafted from some sort of bone. His black hair falls around his face in thick waves, exposing sculpted cheekbones and bright eyes, a crimson glimmering with hatred. His mouth is curled into a snarl, brow furrowed in rage.

Harkon curses under his breath. Lotux always had a bad habit of picking up allies.

He could challenge her here, end this right now. But who knows how many 'pets' she had, just waiting to catch him off-guard. Not only this, but Valercia was the one who taught Lotux to fight. Lotux, as much as he'd hate to admit it, wasn't a force to be trifled with. Granted, if she wanted the throne, he wouldn't give it up without a fight. While she was skilled, he alone had the power of the Vampire Lord at his disposal. His might would overpower her.

But this man here. He had this sheer hatred in his eyes, fueled by what? Jealousy? Love?

Harkon frowns. Something told him that Lotux taught her pet everything _she _knew. Two Valercia's at once was... Nearly impossible.

Not only this, but he had an idea that this man would fight until his last breath in order to protect his maker.

"I'm simply here to right some wrongs, dear father," Lotux says, and Harkon shudders. He hates the way her mouth curls around the name, as if spitting something sour.

"So you want my throne, wretched little thing?" He asks, feeling magicka pool around his fingertips, cackling with electricity.

The man before him swings his great-sword with so much speed it was inhuman. Harkon barely has the time to duck to avoid being beheaded.

"You will _not _speak to her in that manner," he whispers, voice dripping with rage.

Lotux, as usual, looks calm and collected. He can gather that she is not pleased with her pet's sudden outburst, but she forms her mouth into a small smile. Gently, she pressed her hand into the man's shoulder, as if to warn him.

His entire demeanor changes. Whether it be because of her presence, her warning, or even simple magic in her touch, he calms, hangs his head, but never breaks his gaze on Harkon.

"I am here to complete the Tyranny of the Sun. For, like you, I crave to walk amongst the world without the blasted sun in my way. Not only this, but I have a certain..." Lotux trails off, before spitting the words like shattered teeth. "Bone to pick with my sister. I want her dead."

The words were like music to his ears.

"I won't question your motives, at least not yet. I just trust you understand that mutiny, against your king, will only end in you demise. Now tell me, child- what is your plan?"

And so Lotux tells him.

* * *

**Sorry about the warped formatting. Anyways, how was it?**

**Go watch the world burn, my Wretched Little Things...**

**~DD**


End file.
